


Shades of Grey

by WyldWerewolf



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Camp Nanowrimo, Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, John Dies, Married for a bit, Minor Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Originally Posted Elsewhere, POV Sherlock Holmes, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Post-Reichenbach, Prompt Fic, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 10:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7841416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WyldWerewolf/pseuds/WyldWerewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The sky was grey. The clouds were grey. His bloody Belstaff was grey. The man standing next to him was grey, or rather his clothing and hair were grey. The damn stone was grey. It was as if the colour was stolen from the world and it made him sick.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shades of Grey

**Author's Note:**

> I found this [link](http://jamesloki.tumblr.com/image/73060521880) via Pinterest and inspiration overtook me.

The sky was grey. The clouds were grey. His bloody Belstaff was grey. The man standing next to him was grey, or rather his clothing and hair were grey. The damn _stone_ was grey. It was as if the colour was stolen from the world and it made him sick. He could only pray it didn’t bleed into his mind palace.

“Lestrade,” he murmured, his deep voice soft with confusion. “What is this?”

The DI looked over at the tall man huddled in his coat briefly before looking back at the stone in front of them. He sighed and ran a hand through his ever-greying hair. Sherlock now wore the same look that John had when the taller man…

“He waited every day for you, Sherlock,” Lestrade huffed, shoving his hands in his pockets and shifting his feet uneasily.

“It,” The consulting detective paused, sounding choked. “It says _John Holmes_ on the stone. Why?”

Lestrade laughed.

It sounded dead.  
  
It felt dead.  
  
He felt empty.

“He loved you, Sherlock. He really did.”

“Why haven’t you changed your name?”

Lestrade blinked, reeling slightly from the change of topic. “What?”

Sherlock’s multifaceted gaze flicked over him. “You and my brother,” another strangled sound. “Sentiment, Lestrade. Surely you two have done something about it now.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Lestrade hissed. “ _John_ is what matters right now, you idiot! And he’s _gone_.”

“Obvious!”

The word shattered the silence, yet pulled in more, something worse than silence.

“Mycroft did this, Sherlock, changed his name as he was…” Lestrade broke off, dropping his gaze to his shoes. “He signed the paperwork, you two are, were legally wed for a bit.”

Sherlock whimpered.

Lestrade said nothing.

“I can’t hear anything,” he muttered after a moment. “The noise in my head is silent and there’s so much damn _grey_ everywhere.”

The DI had no reply to that. What do you tell the man who clearly couldn’t see that the man in front of him was utterly smitten with him?  
  
Nothing.

“I’m, uh,” Lestrade sighed. “I’m going to visit your brother. You’ll, you’ll be alright here?”

“I’m fine. It’s fine,” Sherlock huffed, waving at hand at the older man. A clear dismissal. “I just… A few moments, alone, yes.”

He stood, listening as Lestrade was driven away by one of Mycroft’s minions, leaving him in silence and utterly alone as he stared at the name on the stone. Underneath his birthday and day of death was etched a few lines of sentiment.

_John Watson was beloved by many, loved by few, and cared for only one. He saved many lives while he was alive and we’ll miss him when he’s gone. May God bless his soul._

“John,” Sherlock shuddered, dropping to his knees. “Damn it, John… Why couldn’t you wait a few more days? I was coming home, John, I was coming _home_ …”

He stayed that way for hours, hand pressed against the name, letting tears flow freely from his cheeks as the world became grey. Who was he without his blogger?

The sky had no answer, nor did the stone. And, as he had feared, even the walls of his mind palace had become grey to match the world around him.

“Goodbye, John…”

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a "100 Theme Writing Challange" I'm working on over [here](http://wyldwerewolf.deviantart.com/journal/Updated-100-Themes-Writing-Challenge-398525074). It was number 34, "Shades of Grey".


End file.
